


Marionette Kitchen (Chrobin Celebration Day 3)

by Voidpurrmina



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Chrobin Week, M/M, chrobin celebration, grima can't cook, neither can chrom but that's besides the point, oh god what do I even put here, we will not discuss the legality of sentient cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidpurrmina/pseuds/Voidpurrmina
Summary: Clearly Grima has never baked a day in his life and it was a mistake to let him into the kitchen.
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Marionette Kitchen (Chrobin Celebration Day 3)

**Author's Note:**

> ooga this exists. this is uhhh a modern au but magic still exists because that's literally what's driving what little plot that is in this story
> 
> the title comes from marionette kitchen from the kirby cafe soundtrack because.... it sounds good....

_ CRASH!! _

No, that’s not the sound of a plate breaking or a glass shattering. That’s the sound of a cake.

A very large and goopy, human-sized bunch of cake batter throwing a bigger temper tantrum than eight spoiled toddlers combined in Chrom’s kitchen. 

This is precisely why you don’t cook with eldritch horrors. They  _ always _ find a way to fuck up the meal. Usually by giving the meal sentience through some sort of cursed, forgotten alchemical magic from years forgotten.

Chrom doesn’t even know  _ where _ Grima found an alchemy kit just lying around and frankly, he doesn’t really want to know either because that’s the type of shit you see around the deep web and alchemy is also like halfway illegal. He’s also unsure where “giving cognizance to a cake” is exactly covered in Ylissean law but he’ll figure that out later because he needs to get rid of this monstrosity before it destroys his damn house. 

“What did you put in that cake!?” Chrom yells right before dodging a stray plate that promptly shattered into a million pieces once it hit the wall behind him. He grimaces. Emmeryn is gonna be mad at him for the mess. 

“I didn’t put anything abnormal in there!” Grima shouts back, “I followed the recipe!!”

“What was the recipe??”

“Oh, just regular ingredients! You know, flour, sugar, eggs, milk, cocoa powder, fresh blood, baking powder-”

“WHAT!?”

“Is that  _ not _ what goes in a cake!?”

Clearly Grima has never baked a day in his life and it was a mistake to let him into the kitchen. 

Before Chrom can ruminate on that idea for much longer or where in the seven circles of hell Grima got that recipe from, the raging mass of cake throws another plate that shatters a little too close to where Chrom would consider comfortable. They need to stop this thing before it destroys all the fancy and ancient china that Chrom most certainly can't afford. But what can he use to fight back?

Oh right, Falchion. The sword Chrom barely knows how to use because he's the president of a business and not a legendary swordsman like his great (x80) grandfather. Y’know, he keeps forgetting he owns it despite it being a treasured heirloom (that he uses in the most mundane of tasks. One day Lissa found him chopping onions with the fabled, ancient,  _ dragon-slaying sword  _ like it was some sort of common kitchen knife. She promptly took the sword from him for a week, saying that he “wasn’t taking good care of Mega-Great-Grandpa Marth’s favorite sword” but that’s neither here nor there and Chrom chooses not to remember or acknowledge it.) and a good luck charm that has been in his family for generations. But he's been taking sword-wielding classes on the side, so maybe this is a good time to put them to use! 

He makes a mad dash to the master bedroom, where every responsible adult keeps their swords, and swipes Falchion before running back to the kitchen to see the monster still wrecking ass and Grima hiding behind the island because smashed porcelain hurts and any smart person would hide. What he wasn’t expecting was to see the Plegian frantically whisking what looked like more cake batter. 

Before he gets a question out, Grima speaks first. “Go distract the monster! I have a plan that I’m 70% sure will work!”

“Only 70%? What’s the plan?”

“Make another cake! If I make another one, maybe they’ll fight each other!”

“And if they don’t??”

“Simple! We’re fucked.”

Chrom considers refuting for a split second but then he remembers that he doesn’t really have a better plan. He’ll trust Grima on this. After all, he’s trusted the Plegian before and it’s only worked out… mildly terrible. 

So Chrom valiantly steps out of hiding and faces the cake monster. He cringes at the state of the kitchen — stray flour and sugar dusted all over the walls and countertops, various utensils and other fluids disastrously strewn about. What he didn’t (and never will) know was that the majority of the mess wasn’t even caused by the monster, but by Grima himself. Neither of these idiots know how to cook. Nevertheless, he grips Falchion in his hand and faces off against the dripping, roaring beast. 

It comes to him like muscle memory. Like a skill he’s had all his life. Almost like someone was guiding his hand, seeping strength and experience into his bones from years past. He moves with precise steps and hits with strong swings. 

Holy Falchion hums and sings, slicing air and batter alike with all the tenacity of Naga herself. The incredible swordsmanship was enough to make Grima peek out of hiding and smile. That’s  _ his _ dumbass, being all cool! The Plegian feels smug pride bloom from his chest as he takes a sharpened nail and drags it across his palm to let the blood drip into the bowl of batter. 

He’s a simple chant away from putting this half-assed plan into action. Grima starts speaking, his silver tongue and buttery voice curling around a language mostly forgotten by time. Grima can count how many people remember Thabean language on one finger, and for good reason. True alchemy was perfected by the people of Thabes, and the damned city had been mowed down for it. For dabbling in forces much out of their control and almost ending the world because of it. There’s no telling what monstrosities could arise if the cursed language and the right tools fell into the wrong hands in this day in age. Maybe he had wanted the end of the world a while back, but he’s found his place. And gods be damned if he’ll let the world fall into catastrophe if only to protect the small circle of people he cares about. 

With a final syllable, Grima finishes the chant, letting the words linger on his tongue as he watches the mixture in the bowl grow in size, inflate and bubble until a single hand forms and flexes its nonexistent joints. It grows rapidly from there, spilling out of the bowl and onto the floor as it takes a humanoid shape with a gurgling roar. Chrom pauses to watch the misshapen heap stumble and step towards the other. 

They didn’t start fighting. No, in fact, they were staring at each other for a good while. They were staring very… intensely. Chrom can practically hear the alluring saxophone riff, the way they were eyeing each other up. Grima is half sure that it’s supposed to be seductive? If cake batter can be seductive?? He had no idea that batter could be so... expressive. Disgustingly, so. 

Nonetheless, the two drippy monsters both turn to walk out of the house peacefully. No fights, no complaints, only the saccharine scent of young love in the air. Aww, how beautiful. How idealistic. How swee- dammit, they left a mess all over the carpet. Emm really is gonna kill Chrom. 

The Ylissean slumps to his knees and drops Falchion, (mostly mentally) exhausted. 

“I guess the first one was just lonely-” Grima muses thoughtfully. He wasn’t really as calm as he sounded. This was an experience, to say the least. 

The Plegian scoots next to Chrom and lays down on his back, staring at the ceiling and not caring if he got his hair or shirt messy. He turns to glance at Chrom after a beat of silence. Neither of them really have many words for the situation that just happened and abruptly walked out of their door in order to have hot, steamy cake batter sex or something, but Grima is hungry so he proposes the best idea he’s had all day.

  
  


“Pizza?”

…

“Pizza.”


End file.
